


What’s Your Sign

by Oh_Martha_My_Dear



Category: Bob Dylan - Fandom, George Harrison - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nashville, Zodiac, lots of fluff, smoochin, start signs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 11:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Martha_My_Dear/pseuds/Oh_Martha_My_Dear
Summary: The lights twinkle above them and for one fleeting moment it seems like they exist in their own little bubble





	What’s Your Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Sincerly
> 
> Marie

It’s a hot summer night, typical of that for Nashville in August.

George and Bob sit outside on two lawn chairs, observing the night sky above them while strumming random chords and barely resemble a song.

The two had found themselves here while recording separate projects but found it hard to stay apart while being in such close proximity. 

George’s hand stretches up towards the stars, connecting select ones from a cluster. 

“That there is Sagittarius, the archer” he says, lowering his arm back down rest rest across the body of his acoustic. 

Bob squints, leaning forward a little even. He hums. 

“Looks kinda like a chicken” he says matter of factly, relaxing back in his chair and softly strumming an E minor chord. 

George laughs in response, doubling over. 

Bob tries desperately to maintain his poker face but breaks when George looks away, a cheeky smirk crawling its way onto his face. 

George always had that effect on him, could make him see the humour and brightness in situations that looked like they were drenched in black. Helped him see the constellations out of a cluster of stars. 

After George recovers, he turns his gaze back up to the sky. 

“What’s your star sign?” He asks with genuine curiosity. 

Bob furrows his brows. 

“My what?” He asks, his relaxed, soft strumming coming to a halt.

“Y’know, your zodiac?” George explains further, earning nothing more than confused silence from Bob. 

He sighs before continuing. 

“Depending on when you were born, you are assigned a sign that’s supposed to tell you things about yourself”.

“Ah” Bob says in response, nodding slowly. 

“What’s yours?” Bob asks, turning the question around on George.

“I was born on February 25 so that means I am a Pisces” George responds. 

Bob hums again.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He questions. 

George smiles at Bobs new found curiosity. 

“Well, people who are a Pisces are supposed to be creative, spontaneous, sensitive, and good lovers” George explains, earning an amused huff from Bob.

“Speaking pretty highly of yourself, aren’t you there Georgie?” Bob teases playfully. 

George scoffs. 

“That just what the stars say” he says defensively, putting his hands up.

“Alright then, what do these stars say about me. May 24th” Bob says, almost like he’s challenging George.

“That means your a Gemini. Gemini’s are kind and have a good sense of humour but can be selfish and have a short temper” Bob punches the side of his arm at that. 

“Hey!” He says, feigning offense. 

George laughs in response.

“What does it say about the whole love thing?” Bob says, crossing his arms and turning his attention back to the sky. 

“Gemini’s are passionate,” George starts, halfway worried about being on the receiving end of another punch.

“They are incredibly charming, and even more affectionate. They are ‘in love with love’ you might say” Bob nods his head, listening intently.

“They can be unpredictable and get bored quickly but once they find that perfect person they will devote their entire life to pleasing them” George’s voice is getting quieter now, softer, like he’s telling Bob a secret. 

After a beat of silence, Bob turns his head to see George staring directly at him. The crickets chirp back and forth, the wind blows rearranging the hair that his splayed across George’s forehead. 

The silence his unbearable, hanging thick with tension. 

Without breaking eye contact, George sits up in his chair, turning to face the man beside him. Bob follows suit. They continue map out eachothers minds with their eyes, George’s rich, dark brown ones mixing with Bobs grey-blue ones.

The contrast is stark but complementary. Like cream in black coffee. 

Suddenly and without warning, George leans forward, connecting their lips. Bob gasps in surprise buy grips George’s hair tight, like he’s going to lose him. 

George’s hands settle on the sides of his face, soft and gentle, his thumbs drawing patterns across his cheeks. 

They pull apart briefly for air before reconnecting, a comfortable warm feeling spreading through their arms and down their spines. 

In this moment, It’s like they finally realised the dance step they’ve been doing wrong or the note they’ve been singing off key. It fits seamlessly without force, slides perfectly into place and doesn’t look like it will leave anytime soon. 

Bobs hands slide from his hair to his neck, pulling him closer. 

George pulls away but not with harshness or disgust, he parts with an air of sadness and disappointment. He knows this can’t last, it never could and never would. 

Bob knows it too but it was nice for second to believe that things could change. 

They both open their eyes, the perspective new and close seeing as their foreheads are still pressed together. George smiles, watching as the waves in Bobs eyes crash on top of each other. 

Pretty soon, Bob joins him. The two are then reduced to childlike giggles, laughing at their own ridiculousness.

“We’re fucked, you know that right?” Bob says, between half-chuckles. 

George sighs, the smile on his lips never faltering. He leans in, pecking Bobs lips softly, savouring every second and ever sensation that he feels.

“I am well aware, Love” he replies. 

“Guess we’ll be fucked together then” Bob suggests, George laughs at the slight innuendo. 

Bob only scoffs in response. George finally let’s go of Bobs face, sitting back on his chair. 

“Yes,” George starts. 

The stars above them twinkle in time with the song of the crickets, the word around them composing and melody unique to that place in time. 

“I guess we’ll be fucked together”


End file.
